Nesta couldn't believe there was someone who existed that had actually dared to challenge her.
It was laughable, really. No one ever crossed her. Not with her reputation, and not with who she answered to. Everyone at the academy knew better, and as a member of the golden circle, who would definitely become an elite soon, a misstep around her could mean social ruin or worse, hence, everyone– smartly– kept their distance.
But then there was her.
A clueless newcomer who hadn't figured out how things worked around here. It was quite unfortunate. What made it even worse was that she had that perfect little face— fresh, untouched, like she hadn't seen anything ugly in the world yet. All wide eyes and soft features. She looked like she wouldn't even hurt a fly, but that wasn't the case right now.
Nesta's sharp gaze bore into the girl standing before her, and she sneered at her perseverance. This one would surely learn the hierarchy soon enough, and she would enjoy watching her break. She always did. It was a ritual by now– testing the new blood to see if they're a match, crushing them under their heels, and reminding everyone who ruled these halls.
Before Nesta could make any move, the classroom door swung open with a forceful thud.
"What is going on here?"
The voice sliced through the tension like a blade, and the room shifted. It was the deputy head, and his eyes narrowed as he stepped inside. Instantly, the atmosphere cooled, almost as if the earlier tension had retracted its claws, and it was obvious someone had gone to call him.
His gaze shifted to both Nesta and Rhea, who still held their ground, locked in a silent battle of wills.
Nesta, being the talented actress that she claimed to be, was the first to retreat. She stepped back with a lazy smile, folding her arms like she hadn't just been on the verge of starting something.
"Nothing's going on, sir," she said sweetly, with poison under every syllable. "Just giving the fresh recruit a warm welcome to the academy." Her eyes flicked to Rhea. "We'll be going now. See you around, new girl."
The smile she left behind wasn't friendly in the slightest. It held a promise, that this encounter wasn't over.
With that, Nesta turned and sauntered out of the classroom, her minion's following her out.
The deputy head watched them go, and his jaw tightened. He had an idea of what had taken place here when he saw those three, but speaking out, and saying what he really wanted to say– would only paint a target on his own back. Nesta was protected and dangerous. And he was just a man trying to keep his job.
Clearing his throat, he turned to the rest of the class, his expression stern.
"Everyone, take your seats! And if I catch any more disturbances like that, I'll start deducting points. Immediately."
As the students began to shuffle back into place, Rhea let out a quiet scoff. The real storm had just walked out the door, and yet he was pretending he had control.
What a joke.
Rhea's gaze flicked sharply to Elira at the faint sound of muffled sobbing. The girl was currently slumped over her desk, her shoulders trembling as she buried her face into her folded arms. Though she seemed to be trying to hold everything back in, the occasional shuddering sniffle betrayed her silence.
The girl's silvery blonde hair was in disarray, with strands falling over her face in tangled clumps from Nesta's earlier aggression. The sight was more unpleasant than watching her cry to herself in the dorm yesterday, and she understood more perfectly why Elira would be traumatized enough to even sleep with a knife.
However, Rhea couldn't feel pity. She wasn't sure she was capable of that, but something foreign twisted in her chest at the display. A tight, intrusive sensation that annoyed her more than anything. It was a feeling she neither understood nor welcomed.
She stared at Elira for a long moment before approaching her desk. Her hand rose hesitantly, almost like she was mimicking something she had seen others do when people cried, and she gently helped her fix her hair, before patting her head with a mechanical movement.
It was expected the moment Elira flinched, but she didn't pull away. Rhea studied her as if she was some strange, fragile animal caught in a storm. To others, Elira might seem fragile, but to Rhea, she was more familiar. She had once occupied that same shattered place, where hope seemed to be out of reach.
"Tears won't make them stop," she murmured, but her voice lacked empathy. She wasn't speaking to offer her comfort. "All it does is prove you're weak, and that is exactly what they crave. It's why they do it. To hurt you. To watch you fall apart in their presence." She paused, her fingers curling slightly before she withdrew her hand. "But you shouldn't give them that satisfaction, no matter how badly they want you to."
Then, more softly– thoughtfully– she added, "To be completely honest, I almost want to–"
And she stopped herself.
Elira locked gaze with her, and the words hung there, unfinished but heavy. She had nearly confessed the dark, disturbing urge that whispered at the edges of her mind.
She wanted to get rid of Elira– not out of hate– but mercy. She wanted to free her if possible. To end the suffering the world seemed determined to inflict upon her.
But even in her fractured mind, shaped by years of twisted teachings and the most cruel logic, Rhea recognized how such a truth would sound. Most would recoil in horror, and they wouldn't understand that for her, mercy and death had long since become indistinguishable.
She had been conditioned to believe that the only way to save someone was to take them away from all of it permanently. That this thing called suffering was a disease and the cure, however brutal, was final.
Even when that logic whispered to her, something in her resisted. A strange clarity told her that Elira wouldn't see it as a form of kindness. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She had to think of something else.
"You don't understand," Elira suddenly shook her head, and the motion caught Rhea's drifting attention, pulling her back into the conversation. "My life isn't like yours— or Callista's. I didn't come from a wealthy family. I had to earn my place here on a scholarship after passing the entrance exams. I'm nothing here, and the school ranks will never notice me the way it did with either of you."
Her tone grew sharper, more bitter with each word. "Ever since I stepped through those gates. It's been a living nightmare for me. But I can't even leave."
"Why not?" Rhea asked quietly.
Elira parted her lips to respond, but her expression faltered. For a fleeting moment, something flickered across her face, panic or maybe regret. As if she'd just realized she'd said too much. Rhea watched her closely as she wiped her damp cheeks.
She then proceeded to sit up, gathering herself. "It's the Golden certificate. What else?" she said quickly, a little too quickly. Her defensiveness was obvious to Rhea, like she was trying to redirect the conversation.
"Let's just forget about it. Have you looked at your timetables yet?" She asked. "I know you joined late, but if you're hoping to qualify for that certificate, you'll have to get serious. This place might be a total mess, but they don't play around when it comes to the school's curriculum. Every single class, every assignment, every test, and proper dressing all counts toward your merit points."
Rhea blinked. "Merit points?"